Unending Winter
by Dorotheian
Summary: With the Doumeki he knew gone forever, Watanuki suffers heroic BSOD. Unable to care for himself, his spirit friends step in to help, but their aid is limited. Watanuki must find the strength to pull through without his human anchor in the world outside. Will he see his wish through? Or is he ready to let go? Set between Prologue/Chapter 1 of "Shall Your Wish Be Granted"
1. Chapter 1: Seasons

Disclaimer: This will only be stated once. The following story is a fan work derived from the manga/anime series _XxxHolic,_ which was originally written by CLAMP. I do not profit from this work of fan fiction. I do not own the characters who I am borrowing from _XxxHolic_. I do not write canon, I twist, change, and play with what is canon. Questions? No? Didn't think so...This story is the sequel and continuation to another fanfiction of mine, "In the Eyes of Doumeki Shizuka," and occurs just after the prologue of its sequel, "Shall Your Wish Be Granted."

* * *

_**Unending Winter**_

**}~{**

**Chapter One: Seasons**

* * *

It was spring when he left. Doumeki, that is. Left. If one could call it that.

There had been cherry blossoms. He missed Watanuki's birthday, and came a week late. Watanuki had been worried that something was wrong. And then he had come back, and that was when the blossoms had bloomed that year. He should have known. Like Doumeki would miss his birthday, which he hadn't done for seventy years, except for...

He stopped that thought. He did not go there.

Watanuki laughed hollowly. It was the farthest sound from joy.

He sifted the crumbling dirt of his summer garden and wondered why he should summon the energy to plant anything this year. The sun had baked the earth, and the earth had cracked and crusted under the heat to give up its water. But as dry as it looked, if it was watered regularly, it would become fruitful. Maru and Moro watched him with tense, still faces, waiting for his signal, clinging to each other palm to palm.

Watanuki stood and looked at the dipping noon sun. It felt like it had just been rising over the horizon a few moments ago.

He knew it hadn't.

The shadows lengthened.

"Let's go to bed," Watanuki muttered to the girls, and walked back into the wishing shop without doing anything.

They didn't argue, traipsing behind him, whispering behind their hands. If it was a language, he didn't know it. He didn't have even have the energy to listen closely enough to tell.

* * *

He planted, in the end. Because some of the natural wards would have failed if he hadn't. But the garden was sparse, and when autumn came, he let the garden wither, and let the harvest rot to nothing. He told himself it needed a fallow year.

The leaves on the trees shriveled and turned brown, flaking off the branches like dead, dried skin. What little rain there had been had encouraged the mold. Watanuki felt the chill of winter through the cotton of his _yukata_.

Under the leaves, the garden was dying.

Watanuki tried to bring himself to care. The wind blew harder, blasting his skin.

"Watanuki. Watanuki," said the little back pork bun at his feet, sounding very worried. "Come in from the cold." The kuromanju bumped at his ankles, making him stumble forward, but he didn't otherwise move. "Watanuki. Watanuki! You'll get sick! Watanuki, listen!" Mokona hissed desperately. "Please!" It was her last resort. Mokona was usually too "adorable" to bother being polite.

"Yes," he mumbled, and slowly went inside.

* * *

When he came back out, it was unmistakably winter. His breath misted in the air. The cold seemed to get into his lungs, and stay there. He began to cough.

Mokona whined at his ankles like an restless mosquito, bouncing up and down anxiously, running and jumping at him to make him move, even stumble, towards the right direction for just a little bit—

Instead, he sat down hard on the porch. Snow fell overhead. The yard was covered in glittering white snow. Spring would be long in coming.

Mokona leapt into his lap, and curled up there, trying to warm his hands, reduced to crooning and burbling, for there were no words that Watanuki would listen to. Only her feelings.

He fell into a trance, mesmerized by the sparkling whiteness. He thought about moving only when he realized, with a galvanizing jolt, that his feet were completely numb. He moved then, but slowly, achingly, like the old man that he supposed he was.

* * *

Maru and Moro locked the doors to the garden, but the effort was ineffectual. When Watanuki sleep-walked, he would open the doors while they slept and wander out to the porch under the moon, still in his pajamas. In the morning they would find him there, cold to the touch, barely alive. The girls would drag him inside and stoke the fire and cover him in warm water bottles and blankets. And they hid crossed fingers behind their backs as they waited.

Mokona was frantic. She could not predict Watanuki's behavior, nor could she understand it.

Watanuki was waiting for Doumeki. Waiting for the spring to come.

But though the snow melted, the clouds overhead—sometimes thick, some thin—covered the sky in grey without relent. There was not a sign of the blue sky above, to the heavens.

* * *

The world outside seemed to forget about them. Before, Watanuki would have customers once a week, sometimes once a month, sometimes twice a week. For the last few years the number of customers had slowed to a trickle, just before Doumeki...left...but Watauki hadn't worried.

He didn't have energy to worry. Watanuki could not have safely dealt with them, anyway. The few he ran into he listened to for as long as he could stand, and then he fetched the item they needed from Yuuko's stores, looking regal but weary. None of them had needed more than that, except for the one person with an insoluble wish whom Watanuki had turned away at the door before locking it.

Otherwise the world let him alone. And Watanuki fell completely to pieces.


	2. Chapter 2: Mountain Water Well

**Chapter Two: Mountain Water Well**

* * *

The old, ancient pipes froze one night. Only the self-repairing spells, dormant ever since before Yuuko's time, kept them from bursting apart as the ice expanded within the metal.

Maru and Moro conferred among themselves in the kitchen. Watanuki was making...something. He had pulled ingredients from the fridge and hadn't sorted them. He put a pot on the burner and frowned absently. He turned the cold tap on the sink, then the hot tap. No water came out.

"No water in pipes. No water," Maru sang softly, and Moro chimed under her breath, "No water. Only ice. Ice, ice, ice." They said it in the corner, to each other, very quiet, trying not to be heard.

But Watanuki heard. He stood blankly, thinking. His mind struggled to process what was before his eyes, what there was to be done. At last he remembered it. There was more than one way to get water. Yuuko had showed him, once. Turning off the taps, he went outside to the back garden, and stopped at the well. It was the well connected to the pure water from the spirit mountain. Surely, as this was an emergency, it would be permissible...

Uncertain as to how to proceed, he took the bucket from the rope and dropped it in the water. In that moment he blanked, and lost sight of what he was doing, for there did not seem to be any way to get the bucket back.

Slowly and tentatively, the freezing water of the well rose from the depths until it came to cover his hands. The bucket collided with his fingers. As the water covered his hands, another pair of hands reached from below the water to clasp his wrists. Watanuki jerked back in surprise.

They were slight, slender hands, but strong. They pulled. Watanuki spluttered the hands climbed up his arm and grasped his shoulders. The water swelled up once more and fell over the stones of the well with a _whoosh_, and the Zashiki-Warashi rose up and threw her arms around the shopkeeper. The rest of the water fell with a loud, final splash, flinging droplets of water everywhere. And then the water sank back down, more quickly than it had come. The bucket bobbled at the bottom, a dark speck among the silver-dark water waters.

Secure in Watanuki's arms, the Zashiki-Warashi arched herself to look at Watanuki, gently cupping his chin between her hands so she could see him better, so he could see her. His eyes had trouble focusing, and he was shivering after being doused in ice-water.

"Zashiki-Warashi," he murmured.

"Yes, Watanuki," she replied gently, "It is I." She wiped the water from his face and wished she could take the pallor from his skin. "Will you let me come to you?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

_It has been too long_, thought the Zashiki-Warashi unhappily; she inhaled sharply as she looked down on him. "Your hands are so cold and stiff, like the white bones of a corpse," she murmured. "I saw them through the water. I had not seen you in years. So I came."

He did not respond. His arms had begun to lose their strength.

She slipped out of his grasp and pulled herself out of the well, easily slipping over the side. "You are very sick," she told him, and smoothed slick, wet bangs from his forehead. Under her palm, his forehead was warm.

Watanuki shook his head.

"You were trying to get water out of the well, weren't you?" the Zashiki-Warashi said searchingly. "Did you not call for my aid? You had not sent word in months."

Watanuki said, "the pipes froze..."

"I see," said the Zashiki-Warashi; she did not know quite what he spoke of, but she knew it must have been a human problem from how apologetic he sounded. That did not bother her. "How can I help?"

Watanuki said, "Water. For soup and...for tea." He gestured listlessly at the bucket, now back at the bottom of the well. His hands shook slightly as he did so.

The Zashiki-Warashi brought the bucket back up, and set it on the stones for him. Watanuki stared at it, and reached to pick it up, but the water was so heavy that he almost tripped, and he fell to his knees instead. The Zashiki-Warashi deftly rescued the water. She turned, and said, "Watanuki, something's wrong—"

Watanuki's knuckles turned white where they pressed against the ground. "Let's get back to the house," he said, eyes closed, and a violent shiver racked his body. Then Watanuki stood up, swaying. Just as she had thought he might have reached equilibrium, his face went white, his eyes rolled back in his head, his knees buckled and he fainted.

The Zashiki-Warashi dropped the bucket and immediately knelt at his side. She took his glasses off and slapped him hard, and waited for him to come back to his senses. He came to with a low moan.

"You're sick," the Zashiki-Warashi told him. "Will you let me nurse you?"

"Mmm." He nodded slightly and sat up, and immediately pressed his forehead to his knees. It was answer enough.

When he was ready, she took his hand and slowly led him into the house. She had Maru and Moro strip him of his garments and bring him dry clothes. She left rather than watch, but she tucked him into bed himself, and sat at his side so he would not stir. As soon as he lay down, he fell asleep. Mokona bounced to his side.

The girls shut the doors they had opened and brought plates of food and warm milk, leaving them on the floor next to the bed. He was not ready for either, at the moment, but she recognized the warmth in the gesture.

She sighed. Watanuki's companions were powerless to help him when he would not help himself. She could see it had caused them much distress. Well, it would not be their burden anymore.

The Zashiki-Warashi wiped his brow and sang to him.

When he began sleeping for real, for the first time in weeks, she slipped into the garden to find healing herbs. He had most of what she needed. What he did not, she politely requested of the air spirits, and soon enough, stray birds brought her a tussock of what she needed.

She burned some of the sweet-smelling herbs in his room, and with others she made a poultice.

He woke up with a fever, and the battle began. She rolled up her sleeves, and became busy. It would have been so easy to heal him deep in the mountains, but here in the human world, her powers were not at full strength. But she did what she could.

* * *

She was deep in her work when the Ame-Warashi stopped by. The Zashiki-Warashi barely noticed the rumbles outside, nor when the rain began to pour, and then to pound, and finally to sweep across the land in sheets, and to flood the drains and threaten to swallow up the streets in a flood. It was probably a natural thunderstorm, but there was something brooding and ominous about it.

The Ame-Warashi dissolved out of the rain, gripped her umbrella and stalked inside to stand behind the Zashiki-Warashi with a truly terrifying expression on her face, the umbrella half-raised. The Zashiki-Warashi turned around suddenly and squeaked at the sight of her.

The Ame-Warashi's face twisted, and her eyes fixed on the form lying prone past the softspoken blue-haired girl. "The _fool_," she said coldly, her eyes fixed on Watanuki. Her swift glance comprehended everything in an instant. "Tell me why I should not end his miserable life right _now_." Her rage, though carefully undirected so as not to harm, was nonetheless terrible to behold. "_Mercy_," she snarled to herself. _I thought we went through this already, after the spider's grudge. How could he let himself fall into such a state?_

The Zashiki-Warashi, speechless, stared back at her red-headed mentor in distress with silent pleading eyes.

The Ame-Warashi's eyes softened. It would have been better if she had not said anything, but her temper did always get the better of her. She had been speaking to herself, not to her charge. And it was not as if she would ever do as she threatened. She would not take a life. She despised people who drowned kittens in storm drains. But seeing the young shopkeeper like this, her anger cast a red film over her eyes, and she had wanted someone to know it. Mostly Watanuki, but he was not conscious. However, even if he had been conscious, the question was whether he would comprehend what her fury was for. The Zashiki-Warashi certainly didn't. In comparison to the Ame-Warashi they were both like lovesick puppies. Watanuki would be no better.

"Don't look at me like that!" the Ame-Warashi snapped at the Zashiki-Warashi, swishing her umbrella defensively. "I know you love him! It would be kinder, that's all." She harrumphed and sat down beside the Zashiki-Warashi on the bed. "Look, see how he suffers! It's a miracle he lasted this long at all!" But as the Zashiki-Warashi continued to look upset, the Ame-Warashi hastily backed off. "Look, I didn't mean that," she said, more kindly. "But you have never been through so much pain as he has suffered every day of his lifetime, and that lifetime has been extended far beyond his means. He should be let go."

The Zashiki-Warashi shook her head. "He is very strong," the Zashiki-Warashi whispered.

The Ame-Warashi snorted and folded her arms. "I don't know what you're talking about. _Look how close he is to death,_" she said sharply.

"He's hanging on." The Zashiki-Warashi reached toward the golden life-line pulsing in his chest. It shone feebly, but it brightened as fingers came close enough to touch it. "He wants to pull through."

The Ame-Warashi still looked skeptical.

The Zashiki-Warashi laid a hand on his forehead and Watanuki stirred in response. She sang him a verse from a song, and his lips curved in a slight smile.

The Ame-Warashi was nevertheless unimpressed. "I don't know _what_ you see in him."

"Courage," answered the Zashiki-Warashi, and blushed.

"And kindness," replied the Ame-Warashi, looking resigned. "As you have said countless times before. Useless human qualities. Liable to get one killed. Hardly practical."

"His soul is beautiful," said the Zashiki-Warashi.

The Ame-Warashi shifted uncomfortably, letting her umbrella sweep across the tatami. She couldn't deny that she saw it also. "Well, there is that. That is why every spirit within five hundred feet wants his blood."

"It is a waste," said the Zashiki-Warashi fiercely. "Such a bright soul should shine for all eternity."

"He has that chance," said the Ame-Warashi, looking down at the shopkeeper dryly. "I don't think it has brought him much more than grief. Humans are not meant to live this way."

Then the Zashiki-Warashi fell silent.

The Ame-Warashi began to feel just a little bit bad that she had not broken the news more gently. The Zashiki-Warashi really loved the boy; she wanted to comfort her and make it all better. But she was too practical. She had just bluntly spoken the truth, as she saw it. It was better than raising false hope.

She wanted to protect her charge. But she was still young, barely more than an adolescent in the spirit world. Falling in love with a human...it was such an easy way to get hurt. The Zashiki-Warashi was so pure, she might go mad from the strain if he outright refused her; and if he died, that would still be almost as heavy a blow. The Ame-Warashi supposed she was lucky that the boy had lived as long as he did.

"Ame-Warashi, will you help this child live?" the Zashiki-Warashi turned to her, on her knees, pleading. And then she bowed.

_'This child?'_ The Ame-Warashi's eyes widened slightly. Had the girl grown? What had happened to her crush?

And she had grown in more ways than one. She had not cried over Watanuki's hurt, for one, which would have drawn the tengu (who would have surely beaten him to death), but had immediately immersed herself in work. She had not given up, she had not despaired.

The Ame-Warashi could hardly refuse a request like that.

She plopped to her knees beside the boy and gingerly laid down her umbrella. "Well, if I must..." she muttered. "I will see what I can do. But no promises!" she said sharply, quickly holding up a warning finger as the Zashiki-Warashi beamed at her. "He has deteriorated to the point that it is up to him whether he will respond to healing and recover."

The Zashiki-Warashi's sunny smile continued unabated. "Then he will surely recover. For he is strong."

Taken aback, but by now not terribly surprised, the Ame-Warashi shook her head, but held her tongue. It was an old debate, long rehashed. But when it came down to it, she would do her work, for the girl's sake if nothing else.


	3. Chapter 3: Let Me

**Chapter Three: Let Me**

* * *

Is he dreaming? Spots dance before his open eyes.

The room fades into view slowly, a grainy, pockmarked image. It is as if his glasses were dirty. Watanuki palms his face. No glasses. The ceiling above is flickering, the light buzzing slightly. Or is that his ears? It's so hard to tell. Things are so blurry and weird.

He lets his eyelids slide shut, and when he opens them again, Doumeki is hovering over him.

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Doumeki reaches for his chest. For an instant he rests his hand there, just above his left ribs, and then he pushes through the skin, just barely under it. Watanuki's heart kicks _hard,_ hardenough to bruise. Watanuki imagines a purple mark blossoming under his translucent skin like a flower. Doumeki withdraws his hand, looking satisfied, while Watanuki splutters.

_How are you?_ Doumeki says calmly, back to kneeling at Watanuki's side with the same old eyes, the same mouth. The amused quirk in his perpetual slight frown. It's weird how Watanuki's eyes focus only on bits of him, rendering them in perfect clarity while obscuring the rest. There are also parts of Doumeki that he can't see, no matter how hard he tries to look, the image just refuses to comply.

"What-did-you-do-to-me-you-_bastard_," Watanuki tries to snarl, but he can't. He has to cough, great hacks racking his lungs. It comes out as a scratchy, hoarse whisper instead. The cough continues to rack and contort his body.

Doumeki, Watanuki can see, is even more amused with this answer, which sounds much more like Watanuki's old self. He doesn't reply, but the quirk to his mouth widens a bit. He tilts his head. _Keeping you from dying._ His tone is dry.

Doumeki couldn't be happier with that job, Watanuki thinks bitterly.

"I just wanted to follow you," Watanuki explains, and a tear slips down one cheek. "If Yuuko's not coming back—she's not, is she—but you always thought I was foolish— Is death so horrible and wrong? _Tell me why won't you let me_."

Doumeki shakes his head, enigmatic and mysterious, seeming a little farther away, gazing over the top of Watanuki's head. _You know why._

No, he doesn't know, doesn't understand.

"Why can't you let me go?" Watanuki whispers bitterly, when his lungs stabilize enough to speak. crushing the edges of the sheets between his fingers. "Stop helping! I don't _need_ your help. Why can't you let me decide for myself?"

The smile slips from Doumeki's face, wipes it clean. Now he's expressionless. That's the face Watanuki absolutely hates the most.

"For all I know you're not even here," Watanuki rasps, clutching the covers of his bed with clawed fingers.

Doumeki fades, his essence blown away into the shadows and a wind that gutters the few candles lighting the room.

Ha. It was an illusion. He knew it.

But even in the brief moment it takes to gloat, gloom descends.

Something flutters across the floor, lifted by a brief wind. Just in case Doumeki is still waiting around, Watanuki sits up to yell at the air, "I AM NOT GOING TO DISAPPEAR, YOU BASTARD! IF THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE SO AFRAID OF, JUST LET ME DIE!" The effort slams him back down onto the pillows and he heaves for breath for a very long time.

If Doumeki was there—if Doumeki was ever there—he doesn't respond.

I must be going about it all wrong, Watanuki thinks deliriously. Dying shouldn't be such an effort.

_You think that because disappearance takes no effort, because disappearing is what you know...that death is also easy. You promised you would not take the easy way out. You belong to the living._ Watanuki hears the voice as very still. Doumeki's voice pauses, continuing in a conversational tone, _There are much easier ways to die than self-neglect. The vehemence of your denial is proof of your care... So don't be foolish._

Watanuki looks around for the source of the voice, but Doumeki is nowhere to be found.

Darkness reaches up and overwhelms him. He sleeps with much tossing and turning and sweating and waking and twisting and struggling with himself and the sheets, much unlike the dead, and very much alive.


	4. Chapter 4: Proboscis

**Chapter Four: Proboscis**

* * *

Watanuki dozes fitfully until a butterfly lands on his nose, and his eyelids flutter open. He's repulsed, but fascinated; he can just barely focus on the butterfly. It has yellow and black swallowtail wings, with a soft, hairy brown body. It appears to breathe as its wings waft up and down. Its orange and faceted alien eyes are opaque, unpredictable. He watches as it coils and uncoils the long leathery proboscis. He's just about to blink, thinking that it is about to fly away, when the butterfly's proboscis lashes out like a whip and stabs him in the white of his eye. Watanuki shrieks and claps one hand over the sharp sting. The startled butterfly leaps up and flies away.

Watanuki slowly slides his fingers off his eye and feels it gingerly. It doesn't actually hurt that much; it was his horror that had magnified the pain. Which eye had the butterfly stabbed, again? Doumeki's or his? His, probably. Yes, it was the left one. His frantic, panicked breaths are finally slowing; his heart has already calmed down from the fright, though he can hear the thudding of his heartbeat, deep and even, pounding from the back of his skull. It will soon go away, but right now, his head aches.

It suddenly crosses his mind to wonder if this is some kind of bizarre message from Yuuko.

He turns his head, and there she is, cloaked and lounging in the corner, inscrutable as usual. She's wearing the butterfly dress, the one of the drooping yellow-black swallowtail; it seems extra vivid and real, somehow, as if it has taken on a life of its own. She takes the pipe out of her mouth and breathes smoke at him. He coughs. She raises an eyebrow, puffs on the pipe once more.

"Good, that gave you a start. I was told by your very good friend Doumeki that you will not disappear. That is good to hear," she says, sounding ironic. "That was my last wish, after all."

"I won't die, either," he mutters. "I'm waiting for you, after all. I wanted to see you...once more."

"Oh really? Three cheers for Watanuki-kun!" Yuuko claps her hands together, resting them under her chin and to the side, with a mockingly bright smile. "Watanuki, Watanuki, Watanuki!"

Watanuki looks away, embarrassed. So Yuuko gets up from her chair in the corner to cross the room and lie down parallel to Watanuki on the futon. She drapes herself over the side, and her long, long straight hair spills and slithers and pools over the blankets. The butterfly dress seems to glow mysteriously; Watanuki wonders whether the dress has a life of its own. She props her chin on one hand and grins at him.

"What are you doing?" he mutters.

Mischievous, she lifts a finger to Watanuki's lips, and brings her face comes very close to his, as if searching for something in it, evaluating him.

"..."

He's the shopkeeper. He's resisted the innuendo of the Jorougumo—this should be easy. He tries not to show it, but he's discomfited. She must be teasing him. He tries not to stare directly at her.

He knows he failed to hide his discomfort when Yuuko laughs, all capricious delight—no, nothing has changed. Then she relaxes. "Now what did you promise me?" she prods, lazily, like a sun-warmed cat.

Only Watanuki's lips move, as he watches her. "To wait for you..."

"Though it was kind and really very sweet of you, I did not ask you to," Yuuko reminds him. "So what else?"

"...Not to make you cry." That makes him anxious. _But what could make you cry, Yuuko-san?_

"Good boy." For a second, Yuuko's fingertips lightly touch his forehead, resting there; she smooths his sweaty, stringy hair, what little of it isn't plastered flat to his scalp. "It was not enough to tell you by messenger. You needed the reminder. Your life may be a mess, but you haven't lost sight of all the pieces yet, so long as you are determined to live. No regrets. For as long as you are resolved to wait, I will be also be waiting. It won't be forever."

"Yuuko-san, will you..."

"Be the same, when I return? No, I won't." She smiles briefly. "I am almost whole, now. Almost awake. But all things must change." She looks sad, for the first time. "You should know that. It was your wish." She presses one last kiss to his forehead, and Watanuki gets a lump in his throat.

"I missed you. I needed you..."

"Ah, but you had been doing so _well_ for yourself without me until Doumeki left! Which brings me to wonder: _why _do you need _me_, hmm? And do you really need me any longer? Not that I mind coming back for you, of course—who could resist the chance to see your adorable antics, Watanuki-kun? But that is the question you really must answer for yourself."

"Will this change? Will it be better?"

Rather than answer, she sits up and looks into his eyes, her own mauve ones equally bright and enigmatic. She neither frowns nor smiles; her flat, depthless eyes hold neither hope nor doubt in the future—it will simply _be. _She seems to be floating away—slowly at first, but Watanuki soon becomes sure—and she lifts her hand, as if in goodbye, and then she fades. The butterfly dress is the last thing of hers to melt away.

_It already is. It already has. That you may grant my true wish..._

There is no room to cry.

He doesn't know if he really spoke to _her._ She hasn't told him much more than he already knew. He doesn't know if he actually spoke to Doumeki, either. But it doesn't really matter. He wanted to see her, just for an instant, and even if this is a fever dream and not real, he was granted a part of his wish. To help him go on.


	5. Chapter 5: Smoke

**Chapter Five: Smoke**

* * *

Yuuko's smoke has not completely dissipated by the time Haruka arrives. He comes in from the porch—they always meet on the porch—and steps inside Watanuki's room. This must be the first time he has come to Watanuki's private space, not taken Watanuki "outside" in his dreams, so to speak.

Watanuki wonders what it could mean, except he's sick and stuck here, and having a conversation anywhere else right now simply doesn't make sense.

"Why are you here?" Watanuki says sleepily.

"I heard you met Yuuko. And Doumeki sends his love. He's still recollecting his spirit, on the other side..."

"Like Yuuko-san?"

"Aye."

Part of what Haruka said was late in dawning. "Doumeki sends his...love?" Watanuki makes out, gasping, as if a bucket of ice water had just been upended over his head.

"Yes, of course." Haruka smiles.

Haruka said "of course," as if Watanuki had already known. Even if he _had_ known, if he always suspected, it feels like an entirely new revelation, coming from Haruka, whose words cannot be denied.

_Feelings_ slam into Watanuki's chest where Doumeki reached in to kickstart his beating heart, the heart that is now writhing inside of him. His hand clenches over the spot, as if by keeping his hand there, he could contain himself. He wonders distractedly what colors his skin must be turning, moment by moment. Grey-blue for shock, pale yellow for hope...white for hot, sharp pain, orange for grief, inflamed red for anger, green-yellow-brown for guilt, watered milk for inadequacy...pink for embarrassment, light purple for shame, bruise blue for the dull hurt, provoked, for the ache of missing, and wanting, and not having...

"I...I worried him, I guess," Watanuki admits weakly, a little awkwardly. There is no expressing what he actually feels. What else could he say?

Such honesty from a Doumeki comes only from beyond the grave, beyond fear, beyond regret: now all that is left is make up for lost time and voicing the words left unsaid, clarifying a matter that has already met its end. What is the _use_ in Doumeki telling him now, when there is nothing Watanuki can do?

Haruka nods. It's one of the best things about Haruka, in Watanuki's opinion, that he never judges. "Will you permit me to smoke?" Haruka asks, since they are inside the house for once.

Watanuki decides it doesn't matter. It's the dream-space after all. And it seems hypocritical to forbid it since both he and Yuuko smoked the opium pipe inside so often. So he waves his hand and Haruka lights up his cigarette. Haruka takes one long drag on the cigarette and now he seems ready to talk.

They don't, though. Not for a while.

"It's not that I wanted to. Worry him, I mean. I didn't think he would...care." Looking at the ground, Watanuki is aware of how foolish that sounds now. Just because Doumeki died didn't mean... He should have known better. Watanuki looked up at Haruka. "I was so angry and upset at him, Haruka-san. I've never been that...that way with anyone before, not for real."

Haruka breathes in, breathes out the smoke. "It was bound to to be someday. Happens to most everyone, at some point in their lives." He lifts the cigarette to his lips again, and the embers at the tip flare orange.

"I suppose. But we didn't even fight properly." Watanuki makes a sound that could have been either a laugh or a sob. "I think...I think maybe he wanted one. At the end. But I couldn't even tell him what I felt. I couldn't process it. I couldn't mindlessly rage at him. Even if I had told him everything, it was too late. I couldn't change what he was going to do."

"No, it was too late for that," Haruka agreed.

"And then." Watanuki swallowed. "He said he wasn't leaving me alone, but that had to be a lie. You can't come back from the dead! What was he thinking of? I can't...I can't... _How_ can he expect me to just go on without him, as if nothing was wrong, knowing what he did to himself?"

Haruka lets out a soft sigh. "He doesn't," said Haruka, lowering the cigarette. "He doesn't expect. He just had to hope. To trust..." Haruka casts a knowing, sad look at Watanuki, and continues. "He couldn't wait any longer for you to earn your freedom; he was an old man by then. In a few years he knew he was going to die in good time. And you were young. He could have died and never seen you freed."

"Then what...what was he _trying_ to do?"

"To make another way." There is only the sound of soft burning, the sound of smoke rising, of drawn breath.

Watanuki lifts his head to speak again. "Yuuko said she wasn't coming back quite the same."

Haruka nods. "That is correct. Neither is Doumeki."

Watanuki blinks. "_What_?"

"That time, what my taciturn, tactless grandson was trying to tell you," said Haruka, dryly, "When you saw him last, was that he was coming back for you when he could be reincarnated at the earliest opportunity. That _is _allowed, within the rules. He really died."

"...Oh."

Haruka looks a trifle wry. "Yes. He's very devoted. Delightful, isn't he?"

"That's the least of his—" Watanuki covers his temples with his hands and groans aloud with frustration. "Haruka-san...!"

"Hurry up and spit out your thoughts before they give birth." Haruka's expression does not even twitch. He _would_be able to say that with a straight face... But it's so unusual to hear him joke like that. It sounds like something Yuuko would say.

Watanuki pinches the bridge of his nose, looking as if he could explode.

Haruka finally lets a smidgen of a smirk through his solemn expression, and then suddenly he's chuckling to himself in that infuriating Doumeki way. Haruka shakes his head to dispel the last remnants of his mirth. "Ah, well. Never mind." Haruka waves one hand. "You were saying?"

"Right...so. Anyway, so Yuuko's coming back, but she said that I should ask myself why I needed her."

"You have not asked the question to yourself?" Haruka said with apparent surprise.

Watanuki shook his head. "At first I just needed her. When I made the wish, I mean. It hurt so much for the very people whose lives she touched, whose lives she changed, for them not to remember her. It was so unfair. I didn't want her to go, I wasn't ready for her to go. But after a while, I just did what I had to. I couldn't think about other things. I was just desperate. I wanted her because... I wanted her because..." Watanuki spread his hands, clenched them into fists. His throat had almost choked closed again. _I don't know._

Haruka gazes at him as if from a distance, neutral again. "Then what do you miss?"

Watanuki shut his eyes, willing himself to go on. "Everything. Even her teasing and the drinking and her selfish requests and how—how she took care of me, more than anyone else I ever met. She sent me on dangerous missions, sure, but that was part of my wish, and she was the shopkeeper, and the truth was that I had always been in danger, all my life, and the difference was only that I chose to brave the danger instead of enduring it. And she knew that. But she was my support, when I returned from every mission, and she took care of me. Gave me advice, sometimes, when she was kind, c-comforted me, even. I never doubted her. I knew that what she wanted...deep down...was for me to be safe, and whole, above all, despite everything." Watanuki stopped.

"You wanted a mother," said Haruka.

Watanuki's eyes flew open.

"It was what she was," said Haruka, looking tired. "Your guardian. She was the reason you survived, when she took your memories of your parents, of your former life, all those years ago. And to the degree that it was her fault, she felt responsible for you."

"I _still_ need her," Watanuki said, insistent.

Haruka nods. "But not that way. Those times is over."

"Then what is she to me?"

_That is the question. It is up to you to decide, or discover, the answer._

Haruka half-smiles, leans forward and breaths once more on the cigarette. The ember burns, another plume of smoke rises to join the cloud around them. He stands and opens the _shoji_ that leads to the porch, and steps outside. The presence of Haruka fades into the smoke, into the scent of the tobacco, and then the wind takes him and the smoke and the heat and warmth of the hearth away.

_Goodbye, Haruka..._

This time, with no one to watch and no one to hear, Watanuki cries.


	6. Chapter 6: Dreaming Sakura

**Chapter Six: Dreaming Sakura**

* * *

When he next opens his eyes, once again, he's lying under a sakura tree in the dark, in the night, tucked among its roots, staring up the expanse of its large, rippling trunk. For some reason, he is being held fast, and perfectly still. He does not fight the feeling.

The highest branches of the tree rustle and jostle. Even on the ground, he feels a small, gentle breeze pass over his face. A slight form jumps from the crotch of one of the thicker tree limbs, and floats to the ground. Her outfit flares like wings behind her, and the bangles around her wrists jangle like bells. She has light reddish hair. Sakura.

She pivots on her heel to face him, and he can see that her eyes are filled with dismay. "What are you doing here? Go back!" says, upset.

"This is the land of dreams again," Watanuki murmurs. "I don't know how I got here. I can't..."

"Yes," says Sakura, coming closer.

Watanuki lets his eyes flutter shut, open.

"The tree is feeding on your body," Sakura whispers.

Watanuki tries to draw breath and he gasps, and the sound rips out, torn. Now he can feel it. The root that has attached itself to his spine, and spread throughout his torso, so he cannot move. As long as he does not move, there is no pain. He could be attached like this and still live for a long time—death would be painfully slow.

"Come, we must go. This is the dream of the Sakurazukamori," Sakura explains. "The assassin... It is near the heart of dreams. It is a nightmare dream that never ends, and it was formed long, long ago, and it is more self-aware than most. Surely you know of him."

Watanuki nods, tired. "Yes, I do. Know of him...I have never met him, however. So much has happened in Tokyo..."

"You must leave. If you attract the assassin's attention, he will hunt you down to end your pain, and you will never be free of him. He is young, this one. You must beware. He hasn't yet found his quarry—"

"_I_ am not his victim." Watanuki coughs wetly.

"No, but your body is weak and you are vulnerable, and so you were drawn here," says Sakura. She kneels, bends down to him, and takes both of Watanuki's hands in hers. "It is wise not to tempt fate. If you die here, you will die for real. You know this. You ended up here because you lost control of your dreams." Her tone, slightly rushed and urgent and breathless, says _this is very important._ "Watanuki, I want you to concentrate for me."

He closes his eyes. "Anything, Sakura."

"Good... I want you to imagine a place where you can lie down in safety. A warm, safe place, where you are at peace."

"Yes," Watanuki croaks, and he feels lighter, feels as if he is just about to slip away and disappear—to anywhere—to slip _into another place_. Suddenly, it clicks.

"Dream it!" she orders, and almost despite himself, Watanuki's dream slips and slides off to the side, as if sheared by a knife— and it morphs—

* * *

He's lying in the Doumeki pond, face up and floating. He can move. He glances to the sides, raises his arms experimentally, and starts to sink. His head ducks under the water; he blinks, watches the play of light from below, and then reality returns, and he begins to thrash: his head needs to be _above the water_—

But this is not a drowning dream, and the pond is not that deep. Sakura, who was next to him the whole time, siezes his wrist and tows him to the shore, where she sits out of the water. Watanuki gives up and moving and simply floats, with her hand gripping his wrist for ballast, just in case he slips again. It was just a little scare. It's not long before he gets his breath back.

"If that was the Sakurazukamori's dream, why were you there?" Watanuki asks curiously.

"It's because of my name. The association is strong, so I always begin there when I journey through dreams...I always have. It is not always a nightmare tree. When it flourishes in its life aspect, it is really quite lovely. But death is another outcome, and in times of ill omen, it reflects that," explains Sakura. "You were trying to find me..."

"I don't know," says Watanuki.

"It was not intentional, then. Your soul led you there, to me; your circumstances were the catalyst that infected the dream. If that was so, then I am forced to conclude that all is not well with you."

"Sakura..."

"Oh, Watanuki, _listen_! You gave me advice in a dream once—let me do what I can for you. Anyway, you are in much more need of it." She squeezes his wrist slightly and smiles at him. "Are you sure you don't want to sit beside me?"

Watanuki shakes his head. "No." He smiles back. He feels strangely relaxed.

Sakura does not press him. She looks out over the quiet, clear pond. "The water here is strangely pure," Sakura ventures, after a time. "Maybe it is good for you. But I thought I told you to go somewhere warm."

"It is, sort of," Watanuki says. "My skin is used to it. Here, my heart is warm...I did what you said, but actually I am not sure why I came here. This pond belongs...belonged to a friend of mine."

"He must a good friend then," says Sakura. "If this is his place...are you sure he's not around here somewhere?"

"I don't know. He died." The surface of the pond shivers. Watanuki rides the slight ripple, feeling uneasy. He can't say for sure, and that ambiguity troubles him.

"I see." Sakura doesn't reply for a some time while she thinks. "Everything means something in dreams," she tells him finally.

"Everything?" Watanuki says.

"Yes."

"Then...what about _this_?"

"You came to his pond because you miss him," Sakura says slowly. "He made you feel safe and at peace, just like I feelingse I told you to search for. Even though he's not here, you wanted the reminder of his presence. Just like how I'm holding your wrist...he was your anchor. You don't have one anymore. You don't want another one—you want _him_. That's why you won't sit here with me. You have to float on your own. That makes you afraid. Now that everything is uncertain, you have lost the courage to move on your own." She stops.

"Yes," says Watanuki.

"I'm sorry," says Sakura. "I wasn't of much help."

"It's fine," says Watanuki, and he floats. "I think...I think I loved him."

"I'm sorry," says Sakura, even more softly.

"I don't know if I want to go forward," says Watanuki.

She tightens her grip on his wrist. "You _must_."

"I don't want to be alone."

"You aren't," she says. "We are always thinking of you. Talk to us! Please try."

"I know. I will," Watanuki promises, suddenly wan and tired. "I know, and I've already decided. I just..."

_He doesn't have much time left here._ In a burst of inspiration, she raises his hand from the water and kisses it. "Thank you." If she treats it like a promise, maybe he will come to see it as one.

"I feel heavy..." Watanuki's eyelids slide shut.

"Your body is calling you," she murmurs. "Don't struggle."

His face scrunches as he struggles to say, "I just have to move forward, and—"

"Watanuki!" she shouts, and

—he's gone.

Sakura touches the water as its rushes to fill the space that he left it—it slaps her hand, with force. Substance. If nothing else, Watanuki is convinced he is still alive. She climbs out of the pond, closes her eyes and summons her power. When her eyelids lift again, she is home with Syaoran, sitting on her throne.

There are tears on her cheeks.

Syaoran touches them and says, "How is he?"

Sakura turns her eyes to him and embraces him around the neck. "I don't know, my love. I don't know."

"Will he get through it?"

"He says he will."

"Then he'll make it," says Syaoran, and he kisses her.

But as close as they are, Watanuki's brand of determination isn't anything like Syaoran's bleak and obsessive single-mindedness. Syaoran does not know anything of Watanuki is suffering: he would never think to suspect. Would Watanuki even tell him? Sakura wonders. "We should call him soon," she says, when they break apart. "He needs us—"

"I will," Syaoran promises her, serious.

"Thank you," she sighs. "I worry."

"You usually have a reason," says Syaoran, looking unconcerned. "It'll work out."

Sakura forces herself to laugh. Wistfully, she confides, "I wish I had your faith."

"It's not faith," says Syaoran slowly. "Not trust. It's expectation. Because I cannot bear the thought of any other outcome—" he breaks away from her abruptly, and leaves her and the throne room. She lets him go, almost wishing that she hadn't pushed him. These days, Syaoran needs a lot of time to think for himself.

She knows what he's thinking about: all the times he pushed forward, not knowing the outcome, refusing to think about any other outcome awaiting him in his future than basic success. Refusing to think too deeply on the price to strive towards what he must, yet taking responsibility and bearing the guilt for his selfishness anyway. It is a kind of denial. At times when she was at stake, times when they were all trapped together, with no way out, times when they sacrificed time, people, _worlds_ and possibilities to get to the future they have now. He does care. Too much, sometimes; she knows that, too.


	7. Chapter 7: Wakefulness

Watanuki opens his eyes, again, and finds himself staring at the round lamp above his bed. So round. A hollow circle. It's burning into his cornea. He winces and looks away, feeling as if he had been in danger of becoming entranced. The vague image of the lamp in bright yellow-green and pink and orange jumps irritatingly from place to place with his eye movements. He tries not to focus on it.

Two blurry figures are hunched over a low table in a corner, talking in low voices. One with long blue hair is dressed in a traditional blue kimono, and the other has curly twists of red hair in a puffy red dress. He makes a movement under the covers, trying to get comfortable, and they both turn to look at him. The girl with the long blue hair gets up and walks over to his side. Because he doesn't have his glasses on, she looks too blurry at first, but when she gets close enough, he can see enough of her features to know it's the Zashiki-Warashi. So the other must be the Ame-Warashi.

The Zashiki-Warashi kneels at his side. "How are you?" she asks.

Watanuki clears his throat and tries to croak, but nothing comes through. He does roll over a bit, to lie on his side instead of his back. Everything feels sore. He rubs his throat.

The Zashiki-Warashi fetches tea warm enough to steam but not to burn. She waits as he pulls himself into a sitting position, then puts the cup in his hand. Watanuki drinks it.

"Why is Ame-Warashi here?" Watanuki whispers, as the Zashiki-Warashi takes his cup.

"She was worried about me. She was also worried about you. When she heard the news she became very angry. Do you want more?"

"Yes," he says.

The Zashiki-Warashi pours another cup, and Watanuki takes it.

"The Ame-Warashi fetched kitsune oden for us last night," the Zashiki Warashi murmurs. "There is still some left, if you are up to it. She said the fox boy was worried about you."

Watanuki nods, and says nothing. A headache has begun.

"I must go back to the mountain soon. So she asked him to care for you."

"And then?" Watanuki swills the tea in the cup.

"He agreed," replies the Zashiki-Warashi. "He will take over tomorrow."

"I see. However shall I repay you and the Ame-Warashi?" He drinks.

Eyes level, she looks at him for a long moment—unusually so. "Get well," she says, finally.

"I see." Watanuki closes his eyes. "That's the right price, isn't it..." The Zashiki-Warashi takes his cup. Watanuki lies down, and she tugs the blankets back over him.

"Sleep," she says. She gets up, and crosses the room to join the Ame-Warashi, who looks up at her in surprise, and nods to her—but under the table, she goes on thoughtfully tapping her umbrella on the floor. Wheels in her head are turning.

Watanuki can feel the headache wrapping itself around him, enclosing his mind in what could be bubblewrap. He moves carefully, making himself comfortable, and finally the stagnance begins to weigh down, and he becomes heavier, and heavier, and finally thought goes away and he sleeps.


End file.
